The Undesirable (Undesirable Series) (4 page)

“I tried. I tried last night to tell them. And I think they listened. I don’t know. They act pretty upset these days and worry about Farrah. She is only eight. Oh God…” He broke off again and turned his head away from me. I heard resignation in his answer. 

My mind flashed to his sister. I had seen her a few times, maybe five, always playing outside his parents’ store. Black hair tumbled down her back in thick waves and her wide grey eyes made her seem older. I never saw her smile.

“It’s okay,” I said to fill the silence. Of course, we both knew that things were not okay — not at all.

Fostino flexed his jaw. “She’s a good kid. Strong. I told her she has to present herself well. I know they will take some kids. I think they’ll take her. She can work. She’ll do it. She
has
to do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” As soon as I said it, my callousness shamed me.

When did I turn so cold?

“Come on. It’s getting late. They’ll search for me if I don’t head back soon.” Fostino stood up. He wiped his hands on his dark brown cargo pants before reaching a hand down to me.

I put my hand in his and hoisted myself up with his warm and sweaty one. My fingers gripped his as hard as they could. He had just told me the worst news I had heard since the beginning of The Revolution, but it didn’t matter. I wanted something normal.

Anything.

He led me back through the crops to the road before he said anything. “Hey, I need you to keep that information to yourself.” He kept his voice low and quiet, but I saw the seriousness in his eyes.

“But why did you tell me?” I couldn’t shake my confusion.

“Well, you…” His eyes searched my face as his hand found a place underneath the nape of my neck. “I’ll tell you later, some other time. Listen, you can’t tell anyone I told you this stuff.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Fostino still held one of my hands, and now he squeezed it. “Just make sure, whatever you do, that they select you. Do whatever you can so they know you’ll be a good worker. Don’t be an Undesirable.”

He leaned in to me and his warm breath brushed my face. He pulled me an inch closer and the motion intoxicated me. Even in the moonlight, Fostino’s deep brown eyes enthralled me. His expression changed. His eyes grew darker. His breath came out harder.

“I can’t explain it right now, not now.” He unlinked his hand from mine and slid it up my arm. He gave it a gentle massage as his lips parted.

“Okay. I will.” I stood so close to him now, centimeters away. I didn’t want to break away from his arms or turn away from his face.  

Then it happened.

Before either of us said any more, he leaned down and his lips found mine in a sudden, forceful kiss. Our lips touched for a short moment; the unmistakable push of his plump lower lip grazed mine with the softest of movements. No time to return the kiss. He broke away, exhaled, and looked at the roads that led to our hometown. I gawked at him, too shocked to speak.

“Wait here about 15 minutes,” he ordered in a tone that sounded forced out of his throat. “Don’t follow the same path as me. Make sure you can’t see me when you start walking.” He sounded mathematical, linear, and unfazed from the kiss we had shared. Not me. No way. Every cell in my body amplified. I forced my legs to steady. “When you start walking, go straight to your house, but keep close to the field. If you see a Humvee coming, duck into the crops and hide.” His eyes held mine with intensity. I nodded in agreement again.

He squeezed my hand one more. “Goodnight, Charlotte.” He pulled away and stumbled down the dark path.

Within a few minutes, he disappeared. Before I cried, I made sure I no longer saw him. When the tears came, they didn’t stop until I made it to my front door.

CHAPTER FIVE

I didn’t need the alarm of my new watch the next morning. I hadn’t slept. I pulled myself out of bed a half hour before The Count and stumbled into my mother’s small bedroom across the hallway of the house. I shook her awake as I rubbed my eyes. The sun streamed in from the one window near her bed and hit us both in the face with the force of a boxer.

“Mom,” I said once she opened her eyes. “You need to get up. Get dressed. We must go down to Town Square. It’s Monday, the day of The Count. Come on.”

I kept my words simple and straightforward. She struggled against me when I tried to pull her up, and then pushed me away. “I’m up.”

In the morning light, I saw how much the vodka took from her. Wrinkles made track marks on her face and an old camisole did nothing to hide the sunspots and leathery skin left over from years in the sun. No one would have taken her for 46. She reminded me of a shriveled prune, and seemed at least 60. She pulled on a blue sack shift identical to mine before she asked me the question she always did once she got up.

“Where’s my vodka?”

My body went rigid and my hair stood on end. My hands turned cold, and I balled a fist to stop my right hand from hitting the wall next to me.

How could she be so selfish? How could she be so callous? How could she not realize the whole world had changed?

I picked up the glass next to her nightstand table. I smelled the remainder of last night’s alcohol binge and saw it swirl in the bottom of the glass. My right hand launched it against the wooden wall above the bed’s headboard. The beveled glass split into a million pieces that all fell in the space between the bed and the wall. We both heard the pieces scatter on the wood floor.

“There, right there, is your vodka.”

My mother gaped at me. I turned on my heel and stormed out of her bedroom.

“Fifteen minutes until The Count,” I reminded her over my shoulder.  I tapped the new watch on my wrist. “You coming?”

She pulled on her loafers and followed me without a word.

*

We were not late to the square, but we were not early.

When we got there, the faceless soldiers had already arrived too, this time with four sexless women in white nursing uniforms who sat at a long table in front of the steps to Harrison Corners City Hall. As I walked up with the rest of my neighbors, I saw a huge bin full of electronics on my left. A few people walked over to it and tossed electronics in as they took their places in line. I had nothing to add.

Two soldiers held megaphones on either side of the table and they used them in unison. “Women to the left!” they yelled. “Men to the right!”

Four other soldiers on the left hand side directed us to a single file line. We marched forward one at a time, inching our way to the women in the white nursing uniforms, triangle caps, red lips and faces painted in white makeup. Two women worked each line. One asked questions while the other pointed left or right, ordering the formation of what appeared to be four groups.

“No talking!” the soldiers with the megaphones exclaimed every three minutes or so. “Silence in line!”

I scanned the crowd and searched for Fostino. While I searched for him, I caught the eyes of men and women I had known my whole life, people I grew up with and admired. They looked scared, and so did my hung-over mother. I found Fostino ten people behind me. He stood in a clump with the other members of the Homeland Guard; still dressed in the same uniform I’d seen him in hours before in the cornfield. They would not go through The Count. When I twisted my head toward him, I saw his eyes already on me. No smiles now, no smirks, just obvious concern all over his face.

How long had he watched me?

I took a mental photograph of his lips, his green eyes, and his skin that reminded me of melted brown sugar. His jaw seemed tight and strained. One of his hands balled into a fist. Meanwhile, I could only think about last night.

And that kiss.

My cheeks blushed a little at the memory, unsettled and confused by the memory of it. It had been by no means my first one — that happened the summer I turned 13; a boy who later told everyone I had lizard lips. I kissed two others since then, but this was the first kiss I ever had from someone who both attracted and repelled me. Up until last night, he stood for the unattainable in my life; he had been a mystery boy I never had the guts to speak to at school. Now, we shared a stolen moment in time that I hoped would not be the last.

Then as my thoughts swirled, I remembered Fostino’s words.

Just do whatever you can to make sure they select you.

I inhaled; my eyes still held his gaze. Then, he nodded and pulled his eyes to the women at the table. My head followed him and spun around to the front.

My turn.

CHAPTER SIX

“What is your name?” the woman behind the white makeup asked. She had the same clipped, sharp, mechanic voice as most everyone in The Party, and didn’t look up from the enormous stack of paperwork in front of her. Someone piled it almost as high as the woman’s chin. The manila file folders resembled stacked playing cards out of a Lewis Carroll novel.

“Well, it’s...,” I fumbled with the hem of my blue dress. “Charlotte Walker.”

“Right hand out,” she demanded. I followed her orders and she pricked my index finger with a small metal box attached to a hypodermic needle. Then she pulled a small blood vial from the back of that box.

“What the--, “I stammered. “Why did you need that?” I looked down at the small drop of blood oozing out of my index finger. She glared at me and didn’t answer. The hardness in her eyes silenced my protest.

“Charlotte Walker,” she repeated to the woman next to her as she handed her the sample. “Age?” She directed her words at me, but not her face. To my right, the same happened in the line with the men. Fostino still watched me, squinting, with his full lips pulled together on his beautiful face.

“Eighteen.”

“Birthday?”

“September 19
th
.”

“September 19
th
?”  The woman regarded me again.  Then she repeated herself in a robotic voice. “September 19
th
?” She frowned after she said the date again.

“Yes,” I swallowed hard. I flushed as I felt sweat tickle onto my forehead. I prayed it didn’t drip onto her mountain of paperwork. 

Why did that date matter?

She wrote it down and gave her head a small shake before she picked up the line of question. She still wore no expression. “Skills? What will you provide for The War Effort?”

I pursed my lips and froze. I tried to force the words out of my mouth, but they wouldn’t come.

“Well?”

“I know how to sew,” I managed, and then I added a few lines. “I sew very well. Really well. My mother taught me how, and I’ve made several dresses for myself and for her.” I pointed to my blue sack dress. “I even made this.” I pinched my thumb and index finger together before I said the next line.

“I’ll be a good worker,” I smoothed on like butter. “I know how important it is for me to please our Dear Father, the Supreme Leader. I live to please him.” I raised my eyebrow and prayed my words convinced her. My hands shook in anticipation of what she would say. The second woman next to the blank-faced person in front of me spoke for the first time, but not to me.

“Do we need more women her age?” she asked the first woman in a dismissive tone as she wrinkled her nose. She raised her left hand and focused her next words on me. “What are your other skills?”

“I can follow orders?” I gulped.

A beat passed. Both women just started at me. Then, the first woman snapped her fingers. “Go to the right,” she concluded and wrote a few words down on the papers. “Number OHHC-547,” she said as she handed me a plastic card with the number on it. “Hold on to this and join the group on the right,” she ordered, already focusing her attention on the woman in line behind me.

I blinked at it before I shuffled toward where she pointed her long finger. There were already about 200 women in that group and about 10 children. I found Fostino’s mother and Farrah near the front of the group. They had wide, scared eyes. Farrah stared at me and held her mouth in a hard line. Some of the other women tried to hold back confused sobs. I reached the group in time to see my mother go through The Count.

“Name?” the first woman barked at my mother.

“Jean Walker.”

“Birthday?”

“D--December 14
th
,” my mother slurred. “Yeah. That’s it.” She rocked back at forth on her feet.

Oh God. She was still drunk.

“Skills?”

My mother swayed a little again. I wondered if the women behind the table smelled the alcohol I knew lingered on her breath. “Did you skills?” my mom asked, her voice rising. “What skills? My skills…leave…a long time ago. Long, long, long time.” Then she laughed. “Guess if Maxwell Cooper wants to know—you can tell him I’m still available, honey.”

The two women glanced at one another and then at the members of The Party.

Stop this. I needed to stop this. Now.

I stepped forward; a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back. I tried to shrug it off, but the hand tightened its grip. I looked at the face attached to the arm and realized it was Mrs. Gameson from across the road. Her eyes shot into me like arrows. She clenched her jaw and shook her head fast. My eyes moved from her to the soldiers next to our group. Their machine guns shone. As I looked at them, I caught my mother’s next actions in my peripheral vision.

She held out her arm to the women. “Guess ya—guess ya need this, right? Not that it matters.”

That was it.

Together, the four women stood up from the table. One signaled to the Party members who lined the perimeter. A man stepped forward. I sucked in my breath when I saw him. His uniform had the rank of Colonel.

He pointed at my mother. “You like to ask questions, don’t you?” The Colonel’s voice didn’t waver.

She shrugged. No reply. Meanwhile, Mrs.Gameson kept her hand wrapped around my arm. I wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Answer me,” The Colonel continued. “Answer me now.”

She shrugged again. “Yeah—I ask questions sometimes. Wassit to ya?”

He crossed his hands over his chest. “And what questions do you like to ask?”

She only shrugged.

“Why won’t you answer me?” he said in an even, dangerous, and quiet voice.

One of the women interjected. “Sir, we can take her over…” She fell silent again when The Colonel raised his hand to acknowledge and stop her.